Page 24 of Sparking Sara

Lt. Brett Cash comes around the corner. “Don’t let them get to you,” he says. “We’re happy to have you fill in for Noah.”

“Thanks,” I say, walking up the stairs to the bunk room. Cash follows behind me and sits down on the bunk next to mine.

“I wasn’t so different from you, you know.”

“How do you mean?”

“I lost my mom on 9/11.”

“I know, man. Bass told me. I’m sorry.”

He nods his thanks. “She was a nurse working at a hospital less than a mile from the World Trade Center. She and several other nurses and doctors she worked with ran into the south tower. I wasn’t quite twelve years old and was still asleep when she left for her early shift. I barely remember my mom saying goodbye. She used to kiss me on the forehead every morning when she left for work, even if I was sleeping. I remember grumbling at her because she woke me up.” He shakes his head. “That’s the last interaction I ever had with my mom—my complaining about her wanting to kiss me before she left the house.”

“You were eleven,” I say. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I don’t tell him that I don’t even remember the last interaction with my parents. Kendall and I had only been dating a short while and we were consumed with each other. Everything was about her. Us. I remember telling my parents to have a good time on their trip, but all I think about when I recall the last time I saw them is wanting them out of the house so Kendall could come over and have sex with me.

“I know that. But sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d just woken up to say goodbye. Maybe I could have stopped her from going to work. I know that seems silly, because nobody knew what was going to happen that day. But my mind goes crazy thinking of all the different scenarios. What if her train had been late that day? What if my little sister had one of her asthma attacks and my mom had to stay and help her before going to the hospital? There are so many things that could have happened that would have kept her with us.”

I think about the dream I had last night. Maybe it’s the same for everyone who has lost somebody.

“Anyway, I knew immediately after she died that I wanted to be a fireman. I was convinced that I could have helped her, or people like her, on 9/11 had I been there. And so that’s what I worked toward from that day forward. And I did it. I became one of the youngest candidates in FDNY history. But that didn’t mean I was any good at it.”

“You weren’t good at what? Being a firefighter?”

“I was a good guy to have around if you needed someone to do CPR for an hour until a rescue squad could get on site. And I was the man you wanted on the front line in a house or small structure fire. I would run in, guns-a-blazin’, and put out the fire before the second team arrived.” He shakes his head in disgust. “But if you put me in a building over ten stories tall, I would freeze. I got claustrophobic and felt it would collapse down onto me and everyone around me.”

My eyes go wide. “But half of our training was in a ten-story structure.”

“It was training, Andrews. In a controlled environment. I killed it at the academy. Graduated at the top of the class. And then I fell flat on my face the second week of the job when I walked into the real deal.”

I look at him in disbelief. “But last fall, I distinctly remember you dissing me at the bar when Aspen told everyone I was useless during car crashes.”

He shrugs a guilty shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. After being on the job as long as I have, we tend to forget where we came from and what we had to go through to get here. But Bass has been talking a lot about you lately, and it just brought everything rushing back.”

“What’s that asshole saying about me?”

“It’s not important,” he says, getting up off the cot. “Or maybe it is. But listen, I’m not here to counsel you or blow smoke up your ass. I just wanted you to know you can come to me if you need someone to listen. I may understand more than a lot of guys around here.” He nods in the direction of the guys from last shift.

“Thanks, Lieutenant.”

“My door’s always open,” he says before walking away.

“Hey, Brett?”

He turns around. “Yeah?”

“What did you do to get over it?”

He laughs half-heartedly. “Went into a lot of tall fucking buildings.”

Bass and the captain walk up the stairs just as Brett is leaving. Whereas Brett is the officer in charge of Squad 13, Sebastian Briggs and Captain Jim Dickerson, better known as J.D., are on Engine 319 with Steve and me.

“Welcome back,” Captain Dickerson says.

I stand up and shake his hand. “Thanks, Captain. I’m glad to be here.”

“You settling in?”

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